


Joining the Club

by CumberCurlyGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Airplane Sex, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Honeymoon, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, Johnlock on Holiday, M/M, Mile High Club, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Is Horny, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15458022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberCurlyGirl/pseuds/CumberCurlyGirl
Summary: The boys are on their way to Bermuda for their honeymoon. Sherlock instigates some mid-flight entertainment.





	Joining the Club

**Author's Note:**

> This is for FinAmour's #always1895 July 2018 prompt challenge "Johnlock on Holiday". Originally I was thinking of making this a Cabin Pressure crossover. I still may make a Cabin Pressure version. I did include a paraphrased line from that brilliant (in the words of Arthur Shappey) BBC radio show. If you spot it, please leave a comment!

“I’m going to be so booored,” huffs Sherlock irritably as they lug their carry-on bags down the aisle of the British Airway’s jet. “Two full weeks on a beach? Dreadful.” Sherlock lifts his bag easily into the overhead compartment and takes his seat.

John, shorter, struggles a bit with his bag but finally wedges it in beside Sherlock’s. “Mind if have the window?” he asks.

Sherlock obliges, and they manoeuvre themselves in the small space, switching places, while the line of boarding passengers piles up behind them.

“Why the window?”

“I intend to sleep, and I assume you probably won't. I wanted to be able to lean against the window. Plus, this way you can stretch your legs a bit if there isn’t anyone on the aisle.”

“Oh, thank you. They don’t make these bloody things to fit normal human beings.”

John shakes his head. “You, my love, are not a normal human being, not in any way, shape or form. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of your abnormal bits - including your giraffe legs.”

They settle in and fasten their seatbelts.

“Don’t be so ungrateful,” John says, resuming the beach conversation. “It was a very generous gift; we’re going to have to send Mycroft a nice thank you note.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Please, the last thing I want is to be indebted to Mycroft.”

“We aren’t indebted; it’s a wedding gift for Christ sake.”

“He probably sent us to this place so he could arrange surveillance ahead of time.”

“He’s going to get an eyeful then, I intend to ravish you on a daily basis,” John says, slightly louder than he intends. 

Sherlock tries to keep a straight face but ends up grinning as they hear a suppressed snort of laughter from the seat ahead.

“Sorry, I guess I should keep my voice down.”

“Clearly.“

“Really though, you won’t like the beach?”

“I’ve never understood the appeal. Look at me,” Sherlock says, pointing to his pale face. “Do I look like I should be in the sun? And the sand, the sand gets in your clothes and just… everywhere. I think I hate the sand the most. You just can’t get rid of it...” He shudders as if he can feel sand in his shirt right now. On a roll, he continues. “All those people, lying about like beached whales doing absolutely nothing. Like vegetables. How inane. How utterly BORING.”   

“Sherlock, I’ve seen you lie on the sofa, or sit in your chair for hours on end without moving. How’s that different?”

“Obviously, that’s when I’m thinking about a case. Really, John, you know my methods.”

“Yes, well, _I’m_ looking forward to it.  For one thing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shorts before – you did pack shorts, right? And don’t you dare tell me you brought the damn coat.”

Sherlock huffs non-committally.

“And I’m sure there’s more to do in Bermuda than lie on the beach. Let’s look at the brochure.”

John pulls a glossy brochure with the title “Cambridge Beaches Resort and Spa” from his knapsack and begins reading out loud.

“ _Surrounded by pink sandy beaches, this luxurious and romantic hotel offers Aquarian baths and an ocean spa, award-winning cuisine and choice of golf courses_ ” John senses, rather than sees, the eye roll at the mention of golf courses.

“ _No two rooms are alike in the pastel pink, and white cottages…all have terraces, and most have marble bathrooms and whirlpool tubs….dining is a particular feature of this exclusive resort. Romantic breakfasts are served on your own patio_.  They’ve got four private beaches… right, you don’t care about that.  A labyrinth garden, tennis courts, bike rental, water sports, a spa – we could get a couples’ massage.”

“Well maybe…”

Exasperated, John takes Sherlock’s hand, fingering the new silver band, while leaning close and speaking low.

“Listen you.  We are going to have a good time. It’s our honeymoon. We don’t have to lie on the beach; god knows we’re not going to play golf.  I don’t care if we never get out of bed, see? I’m going to have you with no distractions. No calls from NSY, no clients, no patients.  Just you and me. You are not going to be bored. I won’t let you. I have some surprises in store.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “You know I don’t like...” and before he can finish, the intercom crackles  and a pleasant female voice says:

“Welcome to British Airways flight 1895 non-stop to Bermuda.  We will be departing momentarily. Please make sure that your seatbelt is securely fastened, and your tray table is in its upright and locked position.  Please turn all electronic devices to aeroplane mode and make sure that all carry-ons are stowed in an overhead compartment or under the seat in front of you.”

“…surprises,” Sherlock finishes.

John smiles a close-lipped smile, keeping his secrets.

The jet takes off, and the flight attendant performs the routine safety spiel. Sherlock remarks sarcastically on how ridiculous it is to explain how to buckle a seat-belt as if no one on the plane has ridden in a car before.

John pulls out a novel while Sherlock flips through the Highlife Shop catalogue, agitated and restless.  John gives up trying to read the third time Sherlock interrupts him to point out some ridiculous gadget in the catalogue.  

“Sherlock, tell me about that man,” says John, nodding toward a seat across the aisle and one row back. John hopes that deductions will keep him occupied for a while. _Seriously, it’s like travelling with a toddler._

“He’s a plumber.  See the small burns on his face. It’s from soldering pipes. He wears goggles, but his face still gets hit. He’s got at least one dog and a mistress…” Sherlock goes on and tells John about this man and the woman next to him and the man in the seat across the aisle from them. John listens intently, as he always does, nodding and remarking.

Eventually, the beverage cart reaches them, pushed by an attractive blonde flight attendant.  Her navy suit is form-fitting, revealing a voluptuous figure, and her name tag reads “Jessica”.  She smiles broadly, showing even white teeth framed by painted lips.

“Gentlemen, may I offer you something to drink?”  She rakes her eyes over both of them approvingly.

“Gin and tonic, a double,” John says.

“Two” Sherlock adds.

“You going to Bermuda then?”

“Yes,” John says, affably.

“I’m on rest for twenty-four hours, so I’ll be staying too.”

She catches John’s eye and gives him a long look.

“Maybe we can meet for a drink?”

“The three of us?”  John asks, tilting his head towards Sherlock.

“Sure I’m up for that," she says, winking.

“Umm.  Thank you, but we’re married,” John says, holding up his left hand.

She shrugs, grinning.

“To each other,” clarifies Sherlock, grinning right back. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

Her expression changes abruptly.  

“Oh. Well, then. Congratulations.  Pity though.” Looking thoughtful, she adds. “Offer still stands.”

She pours their drinks and moves on, having written her number on the napkin.

When she is out of earshot, they giggle together.

“She wants a threesome,” Sherlock says.

“Brilliant deduction.”

“John, is that something you would want to try?” Sherlock asks seriously.

“With a woman?  I don’t know Sherlock, you?”  

“You know I’m not interested, but if you are…”

“No.”  

“What if she were a man?”

“Bloody hell Sherlock, we’re on our honeymoon.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

John picks up Sherlock’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

“I am happy, and I don’t need anyone else in our bed, god knows you’re quite enough.”

They drink their gin and tonics and order another.  And then another.

By the time they finish, it’s dark outside. The cabin lighting is dimmed, and all is quiet but for the hum of the engines.

Pleasantly buzzed, John leans against the window, and Sherlock leans his head against John’s shoulder.  They hold hands, and soon John drifts off to sleep. Sherlock does not. He never sleeps on planes, at least not without chemical assistance, and alcohol is not enough, even though he’s had a bit more than he’s used to.  

He remains awake, just enjoying being close to John, listening to his even breathing, inhaling his scent.  He marvels that he has earned the love of this man that is now his husband. As arrogant as Sherlock appears to outsiders, he is humbled before John.  He doesn’t always let John see this, although he supposes he should. He admires him, relies on him, and trusts him. _Soldier. Captain. Mine_.

After a while, Sherlock nuzzles closer, pressing his face into John’s neck.  His tongue flicks out to taste his skin. John stirs but doesn’t wake. Sherlock catches John’s earlobe between his teeth and sucks very gently, pulling it into his mouth and circling it with his tongue.  John shifts again and makes a humming sound.

Stealthily, Sherlock slides his hand up John’s thigh and rests his palm directly on the crotch of his shorts.  

“Sherlo…” John says sleepily, eyes half open.

“John,” Sherlock whispers.

John’s eyes open all the way when he hears Sherlock’s voice and feels the hot breath against his ear.  The sound of his name, spoken in the sultry voice, reverberates through his body and travels straight to his cock, making it jump under Sherlock’s hand.  Sherlock responds by squeezing it lightly.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“I got bored,” says Sherlock, still whispering.

“We’re on a plane.”

“Obviously.”

“There are people…”

“It’s dark, and they’re sleeping.”

John turns his head to verify this and Sherlock captures his mouth with a sloppy kiss.  John sinks back against the window and surrenders. Sherlock’s hand slides under John’s T-shirt to roam over his torso. It’s awkward in the tight space.  Sherlock unbuckles his seatbelt, turns his body to seek more contact and throws his leg over John’s knee. His hand moves back to John’s cock which is rapidly stiffening, and he strokes it through the material of the shorts then fumbles with the zip.

John gasps into Sherlock’s mouth as Sherlock’s long fingers wrap around him and squeeze. One minute he was asleep and now he is being assaulted by this beautiful, sylphlike man.  His sleepy mind has barely caught up to his aroused body. He tips his head back and lets Sherlock kiss and lick his neck and jaw as he strokes his cock with an expert touch.

A loud cough from a few rows ahead brings John back to reality, and he pushes on Sherlock’s chest.

“We can’t…”

“But I want to…”

 _Seriously, it’s like travelling with a toddler_ , John thinks for the second time.

“C’mon John,” purrs Sherlock, “Can’t we go to the loo?”

“How many drinks did you have?”

“I want you to fuck me in the loo,” Sherlock whispers fiercely into John’s ear, ignoring the question.

 _Bloody hell, I’m done for._  At Sherlock’s words, John feels like he’s falling through space and his entire groin seem to pulse as his buttocks clench involuntarily, thrusting up into Sherlock’s hand.

“God yes.”

Sherlock removes his hand and sits up, looking around, while John zips his shorts. All the passengers he can see appear to be sleeping, some are wearing masks.  The flight attendants are at the front of the plane. _So the rear loo then._  Sherlock points silently toward the back of the aircraft.

“You go first, and I’ll follow you in a minute,” John whispers.

Sherlock strides nonchalantly toward the back of the plane, and John waits until he sees him enter the cubicle and close the door before he rises and follows him.  He looks from side to side. Most passengers are sleeping, but a few are reading or watching movies on the seatback video screens and don’t pay any attention to him. He feels like a kid about to steal a biscuit or creep into a movie theatre without paying. It’s thrilling. It’s not a full flight, and the last few rows are empty. He reaches the loo, opens the door quickly and steps inside, closing and locking it behind him. The space is tiny, barely enough room for the two of them and John is wondering how this is going to work.

While he’s still wondering, Sherlock has unbuttoned his shirt, removed his shoes and trousers and is working on shimmying out of his pants.  

“John, the only way this is going to work is if I sit on the lavatory.”  He rests his buttocks against the lavatory, spreads his legs and pulls John against him. John’s hands circle Sherlock’s waist under the open shirt, and he kisses him passionately. They need to be quick. John doesn’t want to be caught shagging in an aeroplane loo but the risk they are taking is exciting, and it fuels his arousal. He can feel Sherlock’s erection against his stomach, and he slips down to his knees.  Sherlock is rock hard, his cock standing straight out, his lips are parted, and he’s looking down at John, glassy-eyed.

John wraps his lips around Sherlock’s erection, as Sherlock holds his head lightly, and watches his cock disappear again and again into John’s silky mouth.  John strokes him until Sherlock pushes him away.

“My pocket.”

“Wha…”

“Lube.”

John wants to ask why he has lube in his pocket but instead bends down, picks up Sherlock's trousers and pulls out a bottle.

“Please John, hurry,” Sherlock’s voice is husky.   

John quickly unbuttons and unzips his shorts and pushes them down along with his boxers.  Squeezing lube onto his fingers, he moves toward Sherlock and lifts one long leg over his shoulder, reaching under his bollocks he massages the lube into Sherlock’s arse as Sherlock murmurs encouragements. Then he slicks both of their cocks and tosses the bottle in the sink.

Sherlock tilts his hips and wraps his legs around John’s waist and moans as John grasps his hips and slides into him. Sherlock needs his hands to hold himself on the edge of the lavatory, and he throws his head back to allow John to kiss his neck. John’s beard scrapes deliciously on his bared shoulder as he thrusts into him.

“Fuck Sherlock!” pants John.  The feel of Sherlock’s arse, tight around his cock, and the dangerousness of the situation is so stimulating that John feels like he might pass out, and his vision starts to go black around the edges. He pushes forward until his testicles rest against Sherlock’s body and pauses to catch his breath. Sherlock finds his lips and kisses them with a desperate urgency.

“Please John.”

John begins thrusting again slowly and moves his hand to Sherlock’s dripping cock. Low guttural sounds come from deep in Sherlock’s throat as John simultaneously moves inside him and strokes him.

“I’m going to come John.”

“Yes, come for me love.”

Sherlock shouts and semen shoots all the way up to his chest and over John’s fist. John lets go of his cock and grabs his hips again, slamming into him and having his own orgasm as he feels Sherlock clench around him. As the aftershocks subside, John bends to lap a bit of Sherlocks come from his chest and swirl his tongue around a pink nipple. 

Soon John’s legs go wobbly, and he lets go of Sherlock to grasp the lavatory, Sherlock slides his legs down, and John slips out of him. They are both breathing hard and are sweaty from exertion.

John can’t hug Sherlock without ruining his T-shirt, so he settles for kissing him gently and saying,

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You were you, John. That’s what you did,” Sherlock says, holding John’s face in his hands.

They are quiet for a moment, foreheads touching, exchanging breath. Then, remembering where they are, quickly clean up and get dressed. Sherlock’s shirt is rumpled and has some wet spots, and John’s T-shirt is pitted with sweat, but this can’t be helped.

“I’ll go out first,” John says, taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Outside the door, with her back to them, is a suited blonde with a British Airways cap -- Jessica.

When she hears the door open, she turns around with a huge smile on her face.  

“Gentlemen, congratulations!”  

John looks at her, horrified.

“Shit. Wait…what?”

“You’ve joined the Mile High Club!”  I saw you go in and I was guarding the door. Which one of you is the screamer?” she deadpans.

Sherlock blushes a deep red.

“Well I’m sorry,” she continues, “we don’t have membership pins or a secret handshake or anything, but I think there’s a Facebook group.”

“I’m joking!” she says when she sees the look on their faces.

“Um. Thank you, Jessica,” stammers John.

“No problem at all.  Consider it a wedding gift.”

They go back to their seats.

“Well that was something,” John says when they are buckled in again.

“It certainly was.”

“You had that planned all along didn’t you Sherlock?”

“Maybe,” Sherlock says, winking.

“God, I love you.”


End file.
